


tie me up & treat me right

by Avacyn



Series: short Inception works [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avacyn/pseuds/Avacyn
Summary: Some people can learn to do this kind of thing, but other people just know, and Eames is sure Arthur is one of the latter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I went through a breakup two weeks ago, and i'm pretty heartbroken, so i've just been partying, shoving biscuits into my face, and writing Inception fic. Please enjoy <3

“Lay back, babe,” Arthur says. “I’m gonna tie you up.”

The rope is slippery, silky and cool on his skin; some kind of synthetic blend. Eames bought it last year, brought it home in a sleek, understated bag, gave it to Arthur. Arthur let it uncoil in his hands, and Eames took in the little quirk of his eyebrow – pleasantly surprised – and the way Arthur ran his tongue over his lower lip, unconsciously, assessing and approving.

They didn’t use it straight away. Arthur looked up at him and said “come here,” and then put his arms round Eames’ neck and said “I want you to fuck me,” because Arthur has never been one to _not_ get straight to the point. The rope stayed on the coffee table and they fucked on the sofa, Arthur’s body taut and lean under Eames’ hands, like a weapon. Body of a point man, Eames always tells him, proud and reverent, pressing kiss after kiss to Arthur’s skin. Body like a Renaissance artwork, beautiful like Michelangelo’s David, or maybe like Raphael’s horseman banishing Heliodorus; toned, golden from the summer or smooth pale marble in the winter, perfect.

Arthur isn’t quite as good with words, always says the first thing he thinks, which is often just “oh, fuck, you look like porn.” On his back with his legs wrapped round Eames’ waist, full of Eames’ cock, staring up at him with hungry eyes as Eames takes him to pieces. “Fuck, babe, you look so good, ohgod, fuck.”

 

They have the weekend free even though they’re on a job, because for some fucking reason they’ve both agreed to work for Dom again, and even though it’s not _too_ illegal, and not too difficult, and it’s right here in LA, it’s making Arthur stressed and it’s making Eames angry. So they’re having the weekend off whether Dom likes it or not.

Arthur ties Eames up with his arms above his head, not too tight, knots they can both undo easily (neither of them are necessarily patient in bed). “There you go,” Arthur says softly, and sometimes, because of how cross Arthur often looks (the concentrating frown, the pissed-off-at-Dom scowl, the exasperated look he gets when he’s annoyed at Eames), Eames forgets how pretty Arthur is. His dark eyes, his high cheekbones. His eyelashes. The shape of his mouth. Somewhere along the line Eames fell in love with this lovely, darling face, those eyes, those cheekbones.

Arthur smiles like he can tell what Eames is thinking. Hell, maybe he can.

“Are you going to treat me right, darling?” Eames asks, as Arthur runs his fingers up and down Eames’ ribcage, making Eames shiver a little. His voice comes out rough and husky today, partially because he’s been smoking too many cigars with Yusuf but mostly because he had Arthur’s cock halfway down his throat last night. And maybe, maybe also because Arthur’s body, naked in the grey afternoon light, still takes his breath away, always takes his breath away.

Arthur just smiles again, and leans back so his ass presses against the head of Eames’ cock.

“You fucking tease,” Eames says, pushing up against him. “Come here and give me a kiss,” he murmurs, and Arthur does. It’s a lingering kiss, sweet; soft lips but a decent amount of pressure.

Eames parts his lips, asking for more; and oh, Arthur is generous when he wants to be. Their mouths fit together easily, and Arthur pushes his tongue into Eames’ mouth, sweeping, claiming. Rakes his fingernails down Eames’ jaw, over his stubble, so Eames moans and tils his head up. Slides his tongue to near the back of Eames’ throat, because Arthur knows every little thing that gets Eames hard, and Eames is a slut for this slick, hot pressure in his mouth, exactly where Arthur’s cock was last night. Arthur fucks Eames’ mouth with his tongue, slow and deep and relentless, and Eames wants to push his hands through Arthur’s hair, grab hold of it, or smooth his thumbs over Arthur’s cheekbones, but no. Arthur is in control; Eames has to take what he’s given and nothing more. Arthur kisses him til he feels like he could choke from it, and then they break apart, panting. Eames braces his heels on the mattress and pushes up his hips up, and Arthur makes a surprised, amused noise.

“Don’t act out,” Arthur says, “or I won’t give you what you want.”  

“I’m terribly sorry,” Eames says, insincerely. Arthur, unimpressed, puts his elbows either side of Eames’ head, kisses his cheekbone. Kisses over to his ear and whispers gently, “I’m going to ruin you.” Eames’ cock twitches, and Arthur smiles.

 

Arthur sits up, straddling him. He takes a moment to stretch, slowly and deliberately. It’s overcast outside; the light coming through their high-rise window is dim. Eames can’t help but stare, even now. It’s been nearly a year and he’s certain he’s never going to get over Arthur, with his lovely dark eyes. His long, beautiful, capable limbs. His hair is soft and loose, because they’re not working. The only thing hotter than Arthur in a suit is Arthur on the weekend, barefoot and bare-chested, wandering into the kitchen with Eames’ trackpants sliding down his hips.

“Hmm.” Runs his hands up over Eames’ chest, palms flat against his skin, thumbs stroking over his tattoos; the newer ones, the ones that are decades-old. He pushes the heels of his palms into Eames’ pecs; the pressure is  good on his muscles, and Eames lets out a long, satisfied breath, feeling his cock stir, & nudge against Arthur’s.

“Mmm,” Arthur says, and rocks against him, just a little. “You look good like this.” He leans forward, running his hands up the muscle of Eames’ arms. Eames has a Penrose triangle on the inside of his left bicep. Arthur smiles every time he sees it, probably doesn’t even notice he’s smiling. Runs a thumb over it.

Eames flexes, just to be provocative, and it works; Arthur breathes in sharply, eyes fixed on Eames’ arms.

“I’m going to lift you up and fuck you against the wall tomorrow,” Eames says softly, and Arthur meets his gaze with a little smile, amused and aroused.

“You going to get this touched up?” Arthur asks, tracing a finger over a tattoo near Eames’ collarbone.

“I might,” Eames replies. “You’re the only one that really sees them.”

Arthur only has one tattoo, over his heart. It’s the Sacre-Coeur basilica at Mont-Martre; Eames tattooed it himself, one hot afternoon a few years ago with a stolen tattoo gun, didn’t ask any questions. It’s something to do with Mal, of course – maybe they went there together. Maybe they built it together in a dream; but Eames will never find out, because Arthur never talks about Mal.

Eames has to be careful, because he finds Arthur’s concentrating face both adorable and really fucking hot. Over the past year he’s come to associate it with what Arthur’s doing right now, focusing intently on tonguing Eames’ nipple, mouth strong and certain. Eames sometimes has to look away, at work, when Arthur’s frowning over an architect’s sketches or reading through research. Arthur applies the same concentration to getting Eames off, and it’s utterly erotic, the single-mindedness, the devotion to doing something perfectly.

Arthur moves from one nipple to the other, playing with them, pinching, licking, swirling his tongue over them, biting down just before Eames starts to get impatient. Presses his palm down over one of them, hard, then traps it between his fingers as he sucks the other. Eames lets his head fall back, moans. His cock is leaking, just from this. Arthur is incredible in bed. Arthur knows Eames’ body better than the back of his own hand. Arthur is probably the best fuck in the universe.

Arthur stretches his body out and grinds on Eames a little; they’re both hard now. Arthur loves frotting, is an absolute slut for it, in fact; loves when they’re both stiff and hot and wet with lube and Eames holds him down and bites his neck and never changes the rhythm, never once gets faster but just drags their cocks against each other steadily, lets it build up and build up until Arthur comes, quiet but trembling, skin damp and feverishly hot, gasping, overwhelmed. Eames likes to lick the come off him, after, Arthur boneless from coming so hard, moaning soft & helpless when Eames mouths at his cock. Arthur rubs against him now, circling his hips, quiet smile on his face, a tiny bit pleased with himself. Eames pushes up and Arthur closes his eyes for a moment, makes a little noise in his throat.

He will never get tired of watching Arthur move down his body, appreciative and hungry. Arthur kisses down his torso, bites his ribcage, bites his hipbones. He knows how good this is for Eames, has left Eames bruised and raw at the hips from sucking, dragging his teeth over the bone til Eames is shaking, his cock swollen and aching. Today he only teases, and moves to hold Eames’ thighs in his hands. “These are good thighs,” Arthur says, fingers biting into the muscle, appreciative. “Very good thighs.” He mouths over them, teeth sharp and wicked, drags his fingernails up the back. Arthur knows how good a little pain feels, will choke on his breath when Eames rakes his nails over Arthur’s lower back as he sucks his cock, will thrust forward helplessly as Eames claws at him, deep and slow and brutal.

“Fuck,” Eames says when Arthur takes his cock in his hand. “Oh fuck.” Arthur lets him thrust up and down a few times, slow, achingly hard by now, moaning when Arthur tightens the circle of his thumb and forefinger so that the head of Eames’ cock honest –to-god- pops out of Arthur’s fist.

“Please, darling,” Eames pants, not even asking for anything specific, just begging.

“You’re all wet, baby,” Arthur murmurs, and Eames really is; Arthur’s hand is sticky with pre-come. Arthur licks a delicate stripe up Eames’ cock, and Eames inhales sharply.

“Mmm,” Arthur says softly. “I gotta clean you up.” He licks up Eames’ shaft, over and over, gentle and slow and careful as anything. Eames bites his lip to stay quiet, trying to keep his breathing measured, lost in the strokes of Arthur’s tongue.

“There,” Arthur says says, and kisses the top of Eames’ cock.

“Fuck,” Eames hisses, “fuck, Arthur.”

Arthur swirls his tongue over the head, flicks it over the slit, _flick-flick-flick_ , hot and so so good; pulls Eames’ foreskin up and down like he’s jacking Eames off. Eames hears himself whimper, pulls at his restraints involuntarily, feels his cock pulse as more pre-cum leaks out of his over-sensitive head. Arthur swallows it greedily, moaning with his lips around Eames’ cock. He pulls back and whispers, “I love you,” and before Eames can reply, Arthur puts his mouth back and slides down, hollow-cheeked, til Eames’ dick hits the back of his throat.

“ ** _Fuck_** ,” Eames says loudly, “ _fuck_ , fuck,” legs trembling as he tries to stop himself bucking up into Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur bobs his head a few times; the pressure of his lips is incredible, and when he pulls off, Eames is dizzy, absolutely light-headed.

“I love you too,” he gasps, staring up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

Arthur presses a kiss to Eames’ thigh, and Eames manages to look up. His eyes go straight to Arthur’s mouth. Arthur’s lips are wet and swollen and his pupils are big and dark, blown wide with arousal.

Arthur licks his lips, slowly and deliberately, eyes locked on Eames.

“Christ,” Eames says, feeling his cock twitch, still incredibly sensitive. “Oh, god, darling –”

Arthur taps Eames’ knee, and Eames automatically draws his legs up.

“No rest for the wicked,” Arthur says, playing innocent, then blows him a kiss with his wet, pink mouth.

“You are actually going to kill me one day,” Eames tells him, moving his shoulders around, trying to stay comfortable as Arthur slides his hands up the back of Eames’ thighs, brings them to rest under his knees, strong fingers keeping Eames’ legs up.

“Stay put, Mr Eames, I’m not done with you.” Arthur’s tongue is hot and wet when he licks at Eames’ hole. Eames’ breath hitches in his throat, and Arthur hums in acknowledgement, happy. Arthur was the first person to properly put his mouth there, and Eames never wants any other mouth but Arthur’s again. Arthur rubs the flat of his tongue over Eames, dragging, laving; Eames is incredibly turned on, has to focus on his breathing for a minute, keep it even while Arthur licks him.

Arthur pulls back and spits, which honestly Eames still thinks is disgusting and frankly very American, but he’s too dizzy and out-of-breath to say anything, and besides, Arthur likes it wet and messy, likes to get Eames soaking.

“Oh, god –” Eames wishes he could touch his cock. It’s leaking onto his stomach now, stiff, wet at the head.

Then Arthur bends down to rim Eames properly, tongue circling and lapping, varying the pressure and the speed, because Arthur is a wicked little tease. He holds Eames’ cheeks apart and pushes in, tongue strong and sure, wet and so hot. Eames squeezes his thighs, trapping Arthur’s head between his legs, and Arthur moans against Eames’ ass, eating him out hungrily, thoroughly, fucking him open with his tongue, pressing his mouth up to Eames’ hole, wet and burning.

Some people can learn to do this kind of thing, but other people just _know_ , and Eames is sure Arthur is one of the latter.

“Are you going to fuck me, darling?” he asks when Arthur pulls away, voice even rougher now from the noise he’s been making.

“I’m tempted,” Arthur says, a bit short of breath, “but no. You get to fuck me.”

“Lube’s by the lamp,” Eames tells him, chest heaving.

“Mmm,” Arthur says, and crawls over Eames and up the bed, letting his thigh brush over Eames’ cock.

“ _Shit_ ,” Eames swears under his breath. “Fuck, darling.”

Arthur grabs the lube. “Do you want to watch?” he asks, little smirk on his face.

“Please,” Eames says, rasping a little, breath hitching.

Arthur smiles and spreads his knees wide apart, so much grace and certainty in his movements. His thighs are gorgeous. He turns so Eames can see him side on, pours a ridiculous amount of lube into his hand. Pushes two fingers right into himself, sighing.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eames says softly. He will never get tired of watching this.

Arthur grins at him. Smug is a really, really good look on Arthur.

“Mmm, _oh_ yeah,” Arthur murmurs, carefully adding a third finger, pushing in all the way, moving his other hand over his cock, slow and languid. "Fuck, you're gonna feel so good." He groans as he pulls his fingers nearly all the way out; he's sensitive to pressure around his rim, will swear and moan when Eames rubs and pulls at the muscle there. Eames thinks of this now, incapable of looking away as Arthur fingers himself. After a moment Arthur adds a fourth finger, his breath catching a little as he pushes back onto his hand, looking like absolute filth. He fucks himself with his fingers for a few slow, deep strokes, and his heavy exhalations and involuntary moans go straight to Eames’ cock.

“Darling,” Eames says, dry-mouthed, “don’t make me beg.”

Arthur laughs, breathless. He’s a terror when he wants to be. “Okay, okay.” He moves so that he’s straddling Eames, reaching back to grasp Eames’ cock, his fingers cold and slippery from the lube.

“Fuck, babe you’re so thick,” Arthur says, lovely soft eyes looking down at him. “ _Oh,_ fuck. Ah.” Eames’ thighs are shaking and straining with the effort not to thrust up as Arthur sinks down slowly; when the head of his cock pushes past the muscle of Arthur’s ass Arthur moans, loud, one hand braced on the muscles of Eames’ stomach, and then keeps pushing down til Eames is all the way in. They just sit, for a moment. Arthur strokes his own cock, hard and leaking. Eames can’t even figure out where to look, at Arthur’s cock, at his cock buried in Arthur, at the look on Arthur’s face as he touches himself.

“You wanna taste?” Arthur asks, & holds out his fingers.

Eames opens his mouth and licks them clean. “God, I need to fuck you.”

“Uh-uh,” Arthur says. “I’m on top.” He leans back and starts to move, so good, and wet with lube. Eames’ arms hurt from involuntarily jerking up, desperate to touch.

Arthur rides Eames, really rides him, rides him into the fucking mattress, with rolling hips and strong, certain thighs, up down, up down, up down, ass slapping on Eames’ thighs. “Shit,” he whispers, “oh, god, yeah,” and Eames tilts his hips up for a better angle.

Arthur moans, loud and absolutely unselfconscious, fucking himself on Eames’ cock, the slap, slap, slap of their bodies together obscene and beautiful. He keeps a good pace, steady, til they're both gasping and moaning every time he slams down. Eames' arms are aching from being bound, hands desperate to hold, to touch, but he can't even get the words out to ask, because Arthur is so tight and wet around him and fucking him so good. 

Arthur's cock is dripping when he leans forward, puts his palms on Eames’ chest. He's been leaning back to ride Eames' cock, hasn't been able to  touch himself. “You can fuck me now,” he whispers, breathless.

Eames laughs, out of breath, takes a moment to undo the knots. “You sure you can handle it, darling?”

Arthur is panting from riding Eames, from taking him in all way over & over. "Please," he says, "please, babe." He clenches, slow and hard, around Eames' dick. "Fuck," Eames moans. "Alright, alright," he says, getting his hands free, reaching out for Arthur's hips. Arthur pulls off, leans forward, braces one forearm against Eames' chest, spreads his legs wide as he straddles Eames' waist. Eames lifts his hips, slides his cock back into Arthur's ass. "Oh fuck yeah," Arthur hisses. "Fuck me, fuck me -"

Eames spreads his fingers over Arthur's hips, makes sure he has a good grip, pulls out slow, nearly all the way, and then slams back in, starts fucking Arthur fast and hard, watches Arthur wrap his hand around his own cock and hardly even need to jack it, because Eames is fucking him so hard that he's getting pushed forward into his fist with every thrust.

 The sight of Arthur, pretty pretty Arthur, being jolted on his cock, making the most beautiful helpless noises, is _so_ good, so fucking hot. His forehead creases and his mouth falls open. Arthur is loud and vocal and obscene when Eames fucks him. Not elegant at all, but so fucking hot, so perfectly Arthur.

“Fuck,” Arthur says, “fuck, I’m close, don’t stop –”

Eames speeds up, and Arthur cries out. “Fuck, hold me tighter –“ Eames digs his fingers in; his hands look so big on Arthur’s hips, broad and strong, holding him tight. There will be bruises tomorrow; Arthur will gasp a little and lean back into him when he strokes them, fondles them, bites Arthur’s neck.. He’s going to wake Arthur up by touching them, running his fingers over the blue and purple, gentle at first but then harder; he’s going to make Arthur moan, make him writhe around in their bed, take him in hand and jack him off while he’s still sleepy and incoherent.

Arthur is _so fucking tight_ , always, burning velvet, perfect.

A few more thrusts and Arthur is on the edge, dark hair falling into his face, eyes screwed shut. “Oh, ahh-ah, _oh_ , Eames," he moans, desperate, and Eames fucks him harder, "oh fuck, ohfucki'mcoming, _ohh_ , ohmygod, fuck, fuuckkk.” His ass clenches around Eames' dick in time with the come pulsing out of him, and the sensation goes straight to the pit of Eames’ stomach, where his orgasm is coiling, building, burning.

Arthur falls against him, gasping, body slack from his orgasm, and Eames loses himself, fucks Arthur brutally, arms straining from holding him up, _slap slap slap_ , Arthur's perfect ass taking his cock, so wet, so _tight_. "Darling," he gasps, getting closer. "Fuck yeah, come in me," Arthur breathes, and that's what pushes him, finally, over the edge. He bites down on Arthur’s shoulder, a gravelly moan tearing its way out of him as he climaxes, thighs shaking as he thrusts minutely into Arthur’s ass with each wave of his orgasm. The muscles in his stomach are clenching up as he spills, cock absolutely throbbing, his whole body filled with a rush and a burn.

 

They collapse, and lie still for a moment, before Eames gently pulls out, come dripping over his cock and his thighs.

“I don’t want to move,” Arthur murmurs, already drowsy, eyes closing. Arthur always wants to sleep after they fuck.

“Then don’t,” Eames says, kissing his hair, love and possessiveness flooding him.

 

 

“Can you do me tomorrow,” Arthur asks as they fall asleep.

“With pleasure, darling,” Eames replies.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments SUPER appreciated. I'm writing an Arthur/Eames fake-boyfriends highschool AU if anyone's interested, it's under my works :D


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